Holiday

Holiday
By Stephen A Abell

Number of Words: 300

"Fuckity, fuck, fuck," he swore as he slammed the, "FUCK! FUCK!" door and locked it.

Martin felt safer within the house, though he knew windows smash and wooden doors crack and splinter. It was the thought of having something solid and tangible between himself and whatever was outside.

The holiday had been his wife's idea. The last few weeks everyday life had been strained. She was under threat of unemployment; he was working longer hours due to an important contract; and the kids were... teenagers. Stress and disharmony were the norm in their household. Sanity required a break.

Where were they? They should have heard him come back.

Walking down the hall towards the living room Martin heard the dull tones of the television.

The cottage was beautiful and stood within a wood clearing, all peaceful and serene. He 'd decided on a walk after dinner; the family declined, to watch X-Factor.

As he strolled, he'd been amazed at how numerous the stars were in the night sky.

The noises started ten minutes down the lane. Soft creaks, dry snaps, brushed rustling. Instinct told him there was too much noise to be natural. This was no animal in the undergrowth.

It grew louder... came closer... he ran...

Pushing the living room door open he fell to his knees. It was carnage. His family had been torn asunder. Gore decorated the room; flesh draped across the furniture.

Movement caught his eyes and his mind broke.

He could see the tree outside the window, it undulated.

A branch erupted from its trunk, shot through the smashed window puncturing his body. His skin ripped and tore as more wooden protrusions grew inside him.

As the pain grew and his vision faded he saw outside the broken windows the macabre procession of trees...

For the "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge"   by Arakun the twisted raccoon